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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23053258">broken hearts, like broken bones</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ODed_on_jingle_jangle/pseuds/ODed_on_jingle_jangle'>ODed_on_jingle_jangle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>snakes to a mongoose [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Riverdale (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Internal Conflict, Introspection, Major Character Injury, Medical Trauma, Minor Character(s), Painkillers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath, Season/Series 02, Strained Relationships, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:21:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,326</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23053258</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ODed_on_jingle_jangle/pseuds/ODed_on_jingle_jangle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When there are no distractions, Jughead is acutely aware of the uncomfortable plastic coated pillow and his heart wrenches with the knowledge that three rooms away from him, Betty almost certainly has the exact same one. Standard blue hospital plastic. It probably sticks to her cheek too, her most likely bruised or cut cheek, and all of it— plastic against her face, Betty hurt, Betty here —all of it is his fault. </p><p>Betty got caught in the crossfire of his fight and Jughead will never forgive himself for it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>snakes to a mongoose [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1028291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>broken hearts, like broken bones</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay, I'm back on my bullshit. Been almost two years since I started this collection and I had no idea it was going to be this long. Who knew I could go on and on over 20k about literally nothing lmaooo. I'm still salty to this day we were robbed of an onscreen gang fight in the s2 finale, like okay, I enjoy most of Riverdale's nonsense cause I never expected it to be anything other than nonsense, but that would've been so fun! My very wordy temper tantrum is still in full swing, apparently. </p><p>Warning! There are references to and discussions of rape ahead. You probably do not want to read this if you are discomforted or triggered by such discussions. I did not use the Archive Warnings, as such events are only addressed and not actually taking place in the following, hence why I wanted to be sure to warn for it here. </p><p>So! Here is the part with the Bughead reunion one person suggested I do like forever ago. And on that note, um...this is a really niche collection, but man, do I wonder about using that tag. I just feel like using it might wind up attracting this part more attention than I usually attract since Bughead is so popular and it's only been tagged as minor in the rest of this collection. It's making me reconsider how I organize my work. If this is really like, readable as a standalone.</p><p>I've tried to write these more as one-shots. But given that it's grown to be an unexpectedly large collection, there are references to other parts in the following fic and I'm not sure how strong it actually stands by itself, or if it's as readable by itself. I mean, maybe it is, cause it's not like the parts are in any specific order, really. So I guess I am...warning for confusion? </p><p>Maybe I'm overthinking it though, given that Bughead makes over half the Riverdale works on this site, me using the tag might not make a difference anyway. There's so much to pick from. </p><p>Okay, anything else to nitpick about...oh, yeah, there is a not-subtle-at-all crossover in here. Or maybe that's too strong a word, maybe it's just an ongoing Easter egg? I normally don't apologize for my work, not even the cannibalism, but this is the most obnoxious, blatant Easter egg ever, so I will apologize for that. Sorry folks. I have a stupid sense of humor. </p><p>Broke my revolving PoV in this collection and used the same one twice. Boooo. Oh well, it was kinda necessary at this point. </p><p>Title is from A Softer World comic 126.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pretty much everything about Riverdale General is shitty. The food is shitty, the lack of privacy is shitty, his pillow is coated in plastic and that’s shitty because it crunches awkwardly beneath his head and sticks to his cheek whenever the starchy pillowcase slips down, and Jughead hates that he notices this because it makes him feel like some fussy priss.</p><p>Jughead isn’t Veronica or Cheryl, he doesn’t need things like fancy pillows. For fuck’s sake, he slept under a bridge before. There are far worse things than plastic coated pillows. </p><p>But in between the visits and the vitals checks, his room is silent and small and there isn’t much else to focus on. Can’t really follow all the words in the comics Archie brought him from Mr. Andrews because of the concussion. Not allowed to turn on the television yet also because of the concussion, his phone is long gone, either broken when he took his beating or stolen after the fact. Even if he had it, phones have screens just like TVs and would probably be off limits. </p><p>So Jughead notices the plastic even though he doesn’t want to, even though he doesn’t want to care and that’s shitty. He also feels pretty shitty, vaguely nauseous for any number of reasons. It’s a concussion symptom and it’s a side effect of anesthesia as well as whatever painkiller he’s on, some smooth opioid like velvet in his veins. </p><p>When there are no distractions, Jughead is acutely aware of the uncomfortable plastic pillow and his heart wrenches with the knowledge that three rooms away from him, Betty almost certainly has the exact same one. Standard blue hospital plastic. It probably sticks to her cheek too, her most likely bruised or cut cheek, and all of it— plastic against her face, Betty hurt, Betty here —all of it is his fault. </p><p>Betty got caught in the crossfire of his fight and Jughead will never forgive himself for it. </p><hr/><p>There are a few things that aren’t shitty about Riverdale General. </p><p>The drugs are nice. Jughead knows he’s kind of high. It isn’t some scary, hallucinogenic high or barely there buzz from a hit of weed, or the sloppy, sad drunk his dad used to reach before passing out, or Reggie all roided up on the high of pure Mantle douchery. </p><p>It’s a cozy, gentle high that lifts Jughead just above the reach of pain. Coasting in a hot air balloon during a summer sunset, that warm feeling of Betty’s hand playfully tucking into his back pocket, maraschino cherries plucked from milkshakes, sweetly melting in his mouth. </p><p>Yeah, the drugs are very, very nice. He says as much to Nurse Barb. </p><p>“Enjoy it while it lasts, hun. We’re gonna start rolling them back soon.” </p><p>“Say it isn’t so,” he groans softly. </p><p>“Afraid so. They’re making you too sick, you need to be able to eat.” </p><p>“I can’t believe I’m saying this…I mean, I <em>really</em> can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ll pass,” he murmurs. “Forget the food, bring on the morphine.” </p><p>“Oh boy, don’t let the wrong person hear you talk like that.” She gives him a stern look, but the quirked corner of her mouth betrays her amusement. </p><p>“I’ll remember,” Jughead promises but he’s not quite sure he will, because this is one of those fuzzy moments where what’s apparently his dwindling supply of dope has him drowsy and the world kind of dim. </p><p>Barb bobs her head and leaves. </p><p>Barb is another thing that isn’t shitty about Riverdale General. She’s blunt but she’s not mean and she’s still new to town so she never gives his parents those judgmental looks he knows some of the other, more familiar nurses do. She talks to Jughead like a person instead of a pitstop on her schedule and he knows it's sincere, because he recognizes phony-nice when he hears it. She got transferred here from some other hospital and told him he looked just like an old patient of hers there. </p><p>“Really?” Jughead humored her since there wasn’t much else going on. “What was he like?” </p><p>“Stubborn, sarcastic, rebellious,” She counted off on her fingers. </p><p>“Wow. Sounds like you adored him,” Jughead snorted, hoping he wouldn’t be hated by proxy for looking like some guy he didn’t even know. </p><p>“Oh, so much,” she hummed, smiling wistfully. “I loved that boy even though he was always breaking rules and causing me trouble. Now you’re not going to cause me any trouble, are you, Mr. Jones?” </p><p>Jughead glanced to the chest tube and thumbed at the lip of the cast halfway up his thigh. He looked her straight in the eye and said, </p><p>“I’m going to run away.” </p><p>Barb huffed a laugh, called him a smart ass, and became his favorite person here. </p><p>So it’s not all shitty. The drugs aren’t, Barb isn’t, and it’s definitely not shitty to have his mom and sister back in town. </p><p>Jughead hasn’t actually seen Jellybean yet, but he feels better just knowing she’s nearby. The trailer is in reach in a way Toledo wasn’t. He knows she’s home and it’s comforting. </p><p>When he gets out of here, he’ll be able to give Jellybean a hug. Or maybe she’ll come see him, but he thinks it’d be better if their reunion was at home because for the most part, yeah, Riverdale General is still shitty and not a place he wants his little sister to be in. He also thinks it’d be hard on her to see him here like this, and he doesn’t want to put her through that. She’s already been through so much. </p><p>And his mom is…well, it’s actually really good to see her. This isn’t how Jughead wanted to see her again, but after months and months of missing her, it almost didn’t matter. It’s been a relief to hear the rough roll of her voice, reach out and touch her, get wrapped up in her familiar scent when she squeezes him maybe a little harder than she should. </p><p>Some part of him is still angry. But he doesn’t dwell on it much because it’s quiet anger that’s been compartmentalized for a long time now. Also because even before his mom left, well, there was always that feeling that she would. Not necessarily that she would actually up and leave him behind, but that she would disappoint him somehow, leave him wanting. Jughead supposes it’s something he expected from both of his parents, really. The kind of disappointment that runs deep and roots somewhere inside you. </p><p>But now he’s here and they’re left disappointed too. </p><p>Seems more so in themselves and each other than in Jughead himself, and he’s not quite sure what to make of that, because the thing is, he<em> is</em> disappointed in himself. Immensely disappointed and pissed at himself and it’s not the quiet, boxed and buried anger he has for his mom. It is rabid, biting fury. Betty is hurt. </p><p>Betty. </p><p>He put Betty in harm’s way, he put Betty here, and he can’t even check on her because he put himself here too. </p><p>How could he be so fucking stupid? </p><p>At the time, he thought he was being so smart. He thought he had everything figured out. He thought if he offered himself up, no one else— </p><p>
  <em>“The only scary thing is what we’re gonna do to your girlfriend when we find her.”</em>
</p><p>—the punch he threw after the threat was the only one that actually landed. And it didn’t matter any more than anything else he did mattered, because they found her anyway. </p><hr/><p>Jughead is unprepared for how much it hurts when the meds are rolled back. On some level he knew he was in for a world of pain. He got beaten into the dirt by over thirty Ghoulies and that’s not the kind of thing people survive without a scratch. He met them in the forest fully believing he wouldn’t survive at all. </p><p>Except he did and now he’s here, and it really fucking hurts. Jughead has a high pain tolerance. He made it through the Gauntlet and became a proper Serpent without missing a beat. Even as a kid, he barely blinked when he’d get roughed up by elementary bullies on the rare times they’d catch him without Archie there to chase them off. Jughead’s been brushing off his bruises for as long as he can remember. </p><p>But he’s gotten too comfortable in the soft, steady embrace of painkillers and without them, everything hurts. Stitches sore and tight. Ribs like needles every time he takes a breath, sharp, stabbing. Constant, dull burning beneath the bandages where the meat of his shoulder was hacked off. Head throbbing like his skull shrunk two sizes. Every bruise feels pounded in marrow deep and he swears he can feel the exact places his bones are broken aching from the inside out.  </p><p>It’s probably what he deserves. No, it’s <em>definitely</em> what he deserves. Betty is likely in just as much pain and she didn’t even ask for this. Jughead did and she got dragged into it by association. </p><p>He swallows his pain silently, soaks in it, hopes and prays to whatever might be listening that Betty’s somehow better off and that if she isn’t, he can just absorb the pain away from her through some kind of telekinetic osmosis. </p><p>“You sure you’re alright?” his mom asks for what must be the fifth time since they cut him off, peering at him tensely, one hand drumming on the armrest of her chair and the other stuffed in a bag of pretzels. </p><p>“Just as alright as I was ten minutes ago,” he sighs, trying to be patient. </p><p>It feels surreal to be around her right now. She abandoned him to bear the brunt of his dad’s drinking alone, not a word passed between them for months on end, and now she’s here and hovering and fretting like…almost like how Betty’s mom would. </p><p>“You look weird.” </p><p>“Great, thanks.” </p><p>His dad tilts his head, measuring him up with a similar worried look. </p><p>“She’s right. You’re kinda pale.” </p><p>“Haven’t exactly been working on my tan in here.” Jughead shifts a bit, curls tighter into his dad’s bathrobe and then regrets it when the motion tugs at an uncomfortable pressure in his side. </p><p>That’s another place that hurts, this tender, kneading kind of pain behind his left ribs. It’s not the same stabbing as his ribs themselves, so he just attributes it to the huge, blotchy bruise that shares its shade of purple with Barney the dinosaur. </p><p>“So when can I leave?” he asks glancing between them. </p><p>He’d asked Barb too and her reply had been, “next week” but in truth, Jughead isn’t sure when he asked. The days are all running together like rainbow acrylics mixed into one muddy brown. </p><p>“Depends,” his dad answers. “You gotta stay till the chest tube comes out and they’re still watching your spleen. S’why you’ve got that test today, remember?” </p><p>“All that’s technically optional.” Jughead presses his lips together. “This isn’t prison. Can’t I just leave with you guys? I’ll sign whatever release forms they want about how it’s against medical advice.” </p><p>“No,” his parents affirm in unison. </p><p>“Look, I don’t feel that bad and I’ve already been here…” he pauses in an attempt to put a number on the days (two? four? three? five? ten?) and can’t quite do so, “…awhile. We can’t afford this as is, the longer I stay, the more expensive the bill is gonna be.” </p><p>“Don’t worry about it, Jug,” his dad mutters. “It’s not on you.” </p><p>“Anyhow, I’m expecting to come into some money soon,” his mom insists. “We’re gonna work something out.” </p><p>Jughead wonders if it’s true or where it’s coming from if it is. He wants to know but suddenly doesn’t really feel up to asking. Or arguing with whatever sketchy answer he’s sure he’d be skeptical of. He lets it go for now and leans back, resting his head on the pillow. Actually surprises himself when he’s too tired to be annoyed at its familiar plastic crunch. </p><p>“Anybody hear anything new about Betty?” </p><p>His parents exchange quick glances. His dad starts to shake his head but his mom speaks up. </p><p>“Had myself a little chat with Alice earlier and she looking forward to taking Betty home this week.” </p><p>Jughead absorbs this, ruminating. </p><p>“Wait, you talked to Alice?” FP sits up a bit straighter, eyeing his wife. </p><p>If Betty can go home soon, that’s good, obviously. Reassuring. The hospital is a horrible place to be. </p><p>“That’s what I just said, ain’t it?” </p><p>What’s going home going to be like for her though? </p><p>Her dad’s arrest was public and Riverdale is a small town. News like that spreads like wildfire. There’s probably going to be a bunch of people swarming around her house, gawking, taking pictures, possibly even shoving microphones in her face and asking her to spill her guts. Anxiety at the thought makes Jughead squirm, but he stills when it agitates the pain in his side. </p><p>“What, uh— what else you and Alice talk about?” </p><p>It’s dizzying to think how bombarded Betty is going to be with all of this. How hard it’s going to be to process her own feelings about her dad being the Black Hood while being exposed like a bug under a microscope. At home, at school. If she can even go back to school right away. How’s that going to go with her injuries?</p><p>“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Gladys huffs, snapping the pretzel stick between her teeth. </p><p>FP turns his eyes down to the tile and sucks in a loud breath. </p><p>Ugh. </p><p>If his parents were going to be weird, Jughead wishes they’d go do it somewhere else. If he was still coasting on the painkillers, maybe he’d feel ballsy enough to tell them to. But all the good juice has worked its way out of his system and the ibuprofen isn’t doing shit. That strange, painful pressure under his ribs especially keeps getting worse. </p><p>Whatever. Fuck it, fuck him. Betty is going home soon and her bedroom is upstairs. The Ghoulies broke her legs. How’s she going to get upstairs? </p><p>Betty’s dad isn’t there to carry her, he’s locked up behind bars. Jughead couldn’t carry her like this even if he was there for her now and he’s not, and he should be, he should be there now more than ever, but he’s not and he can’t be and fuck, fuck, fuck— </p><p>How is Betty going to get to her bedroom!?</p><p>Crawl? </p><p>Jesus Christ, his girlfriend is going to have to crawl to her own bedroom and it’s his fault, it’s all his fault, his own stupid—  </p><p>“Jug?” </p><p>He snaps his attention back to his parents. They’re both staring at him with worried frowns. Did he miss something? </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p>The way his dad asks makes it sound like a question repeated. Jughead swallows, wills his anxiety to settle. It’s not something he wants to talk about, not with them. Betty wasn’t the only person hurt by what he did. </p><p>His dad stayed for over twenty-four hours when he first got admitted, wouldn’t even leave for a change of clothes that didn’t have blood on them. His mom dropped whatever she was up to in Toledo, drove straight through the worry he might croak on her the whole way up. While no, he’s not thrilled it took that much for her to be in his life again and yes, Jughead’s wanted both of them to make an effort for awhile now, he never wanted it to be like that.</p><p>Never wanted to see either of them looking at him like this, foreheads creased and gazes nervous, shoulders sagging under the weight of something awful he can’t quite put his finger on. </p><p>“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, but it comes out weak, so he swallows and tries again. “Just, uh, kinda cold.” </p><p>Jughead pauses, blinking, surprised that slipped out. Even if isn’t what he was really thinking about, it’s not a lie. It’s weirdly cold in here, colder than it was earlier. His parents give him their jackets even though he doesn’t ask for them. He takes a bit of comfort in the gesture even though his anxiety is still ramped up, mind on other things. </p><p>Namely Betty, always Betty. </p><p>Especially right now. </p><p>His parents duck out to get a bite before he’s due for his CT and Jughead spends some time in the quiet replaying that night in his head from all different angles. Goes back over the steps he took, wonders when and where he should’ve taken them differently. It’s pointless because what happened, happened. Done and unchangeable. The wondering is more of an exercise in mental torture than anything. </p><p>But maybe he deserves that too. It’s probably the guilt that has him so nauseous, the guilt that makes him throw up. </p><hr/><p><br/>The next day is laid back and sleepy and the gift of opioids have been returned to him, if at least for a little while. Turns out it wasn’t guilt that had Jughead puking, it was just plain and simple internal bleeding. Wasn’t much to salvage of his spleen so they didn’t, they sliced him open, cut it out, and tossed it in some medical waste bin. </p><p>“Should’ve got to keep it,” he mutters morosely.</p><p>“What?” Barb gives him a skeptical look, uncomfortable presence of the ear thermometer disappearing as she extracts it. </p><p>“My spleen. They didn’t have to throw it away, they could’ve saved it for me. Put it in a jar or something.” </p><p>“What on Earth would you do with it?” </p><p>“I don’t know. Could’ve donated it to the science lab at my school or something.” Jughead isn’t sure if he really would’ve wanted to keep it or done anything with it. It just feels wrong that it was his and somebody else threw it away. </p><p>Barb just shakes her head, studies the thermometer before frowning. </p><p>“You’re running a little warm. It’s not that unusual, but is there anything bothering you?” </p><p>“Not really.” All the constant questions about how and what he’s feeling are nothing short of exhausting. </p><p>“Are you sure?” </p><p>“Yes, no, I don’t— it’s a weird question,” he sighs. “Of course I’m not feeling the greatest right now, who would be?” </p><p>“Fair enough, but you know you need to tell someone if something’s bothering you or if you start feeling worse, right?” Barb stares at him seriously. “You can’t afford an infection right now. It can’t be like yesterday. If you would’ve spoke up sooner, they might’ve been able to do it laparoscopically. Less scarring, shorter stay. I know you’re itching to get outta here.” </p><p>“I didn’t realize anything was happening,” Jughead admits. “I just thought I was feeling crappy about putting my girlfriend in here.” </p><p>“What?” she tilts her head.</p><p>“Elizabeth Cooper, three rooms down,” he says, heart twisting. “It’s my fault she’s here.” </p><p>“That’s not true.” Barb rests a hand on her hip. “You were admitted hours before she was, you couldn’t have hurt a hair on her head.” </p><p>“I mean, I wasn’t the person who hurt her but—“ </p><p>“Ah-ah.” Barb holds her opposite hand up in a halting gesture. “Stop there. You weren’t the person who hurt her. It’s not your fault. Now I’ve got other people I’ve got to check on, but I need to know you’ll say something if you start feeling worse. It’s important.” </p><p>“I know. I will.” He nods along, swipes his tongue over his teeth beneath closed lips. </p><p>Barb smiles gently and leaves. </p><p>
  <em>You weren’t the person who hurt her. It’s not your fault. </em>
</p><p>It sounds so simple. In theory. So much more simple than it actually is. So much more simple than the way it feels, guilt like thick black tar in his chest. </p><p> </p><p><br/>Archie visits at some point later and they talk about it. Among other things. He feels somewhat better about talking to Betty at least, whenever it happens. Somewhat. He stills feels guilty but more confident that she won’t hate him, at least. Also somewhat less worried about Betty herself, knowing she’s got Veronica visiting and apparently pampering her. </p><p>Veronica rubs Jughead the wrong way sometimes and it’s something that goes both ways. Sometimes she gets stuck on stupid, shallow things and it makes Jughead want to double-dip french fries in her ketchup or squiggle something silly on her face in Sharpie. He knows his cynicism has a tenancy to crawl under her skin and leave her bummed out, or have her rolling her eyes. They don’t always get along. </p><p>But even if he and Veronica don’t always get along, he does always trust her with Betty. She goes above and beyond for her friends, and Betty is her best friend. She’s a pretty good listener and she’s very protective. If Veronica is with Betty, it means Betty isn’t battling her mother’s exhaustive hovering by herself. </p><p>So talking with Archie is good and even when he’s too tired to keep talking, Archie stays and that’s good too. Archie is a solid presence. In this stuffy, sterile cell of a room Jughead feels more comfortable with Archie around. Finds his friend to be reassuring the way an old shirt washed too many times feels reassuring, the fabric worn soft and familiar. </p><p>At some point during this movie they’re watching, Jughead falls asleep. He doesn’t know how much longer it is later that he wakes to his mom’s hands lightly stroking through his hair. She mouths a gentle, ‘hi,’ that Jughead returns, blinking blearily. </p><p>When he glances over, Jughead sees Archie is still here and also fell asleep at some point, slumped forward in the chair, drooling a bit, and covered up with his dad’s Serpent jacket. </p><p>All in all, his first day spleen-less isn’t terrible. </p><hr/><p><br/>His second day spleen-less starts out shitty but picks up as it goes along. Veronica visits and he’s not really expecting that, but it is a nice distraction. She seems more worried than Jughead thought she would be. </p><p>It actually sort of startles him, but he swallows and tries not to let that show, wonders how much her worries have to do with whatever Archie’s told her, how he’s sure he’s wearing the way he feels, or guilt by proxy because her father is Satan incarnate and at the center of this, of everything bad these days. </p><p>Jughead is honest with her because she pushes it out of him, tries to put her at ease while he lets her brush his hair out. He doesn’t blame Veronica for anything Hiram does. When it comes to being here, he thinks he blames himself more than he blames Hiram, even. Blames himself for not knowing better because after everything, if there’s anything he should’ve had certainty in, it’s that deals with the devil always fall through. </p><p>It’s a good visit, the highlight of which is learning Betty’s set to be discharged the next day, which gives him something to look forward to. When Veronica excuses herself, that’s where his mind goes. He mulls it over for a few minutes. What it’ll mean to see Betty tomorrow. It’s just around the corner but after everything that’s happened, it feels so long— </p><p>“Surprise,” Veronica chirps, door bumped open at the pivot of her hip, Archie a half a step behind her with Betty in his arms. </p><p>Jughead scrambles immediately to make room as best as he can, reaches for her as his heart jumps into his throat. Veronica guides Betty’s IV pole aside and Betty’s eyes meet his as Archie lowers her down, wide and wet. Then their arms are around each other and they’re squeezing and Jughead silently prays his arm cast isn’t pressing too hard into her back but Betty is here and he needs to hold her more than he needs air to breathe. </p><p>And he can’t breathe, not really, as Betty squeezes him so tight it rips the air from his lungs and his ribs grind in protest, and it hurts, hurts, hurts where her body presses against his surgical stitches and he doesn’t give a single shit. It’s worth it just to have Betty back in his arms, no feeling matters more than her face tucked against his neck, the vibration of his throat under the short cry she muffles into it. She curls her hands into the fabric of his dad’s bathrobe and he feels the way her next breath leaves her tongue all shaky, fraught with relief. </p><p>Jughead relaxes his hold on her and absently registers that it’s just the two of them now, at some point during their embrace Archie and Veronica left. Betty relaxes her grip too and shifts back just a bit, lifting her head enough to face him. Two people to this small bed with one raised guardrail is rather awkward, and cramped, but Jughead scoots as much as he can to give her some room. </p><p>“I thought you died,” are the first actual words Betty says to him, hushed as if speaking them louder could make her fears real. </p><p><em>I didn’t,</em> Jughead wants to say, to promise, even though being right here might seem like enough. </p><p>But he finds he can’t speak at all, because being told about Betty getting hurt and seeing Betty hurt are two very different things. Hearing about it was like a knife in his heart but seeing it is that knife ripped out and dragged from his throat to his navel, gutting him like a caught salmon. </p><p>There’s a splint over Betty’s violet nose, tiny red-brown crescents of dried blood around her nostrils. Deep bruises imprint the skin around her mouth. There are several cuts in her lips, one larger split in the bottom one that looks slightly swollen. Twin white casts encase her legs up to the knee and the hand she so gently cups his cheek in is heavily bandaged. Countless scratches and potato like bruises go up and down her arms.</p><p>Betty’s neck is a collage of plum purple and dull blue, more bruises on top of bruises, on top of bruises. Jughead traces them with trembling fingertips. Betty permits the touch, something grim and resigned darkening her gaze. </p><p>“Oh,” he chokes out. “Oh, Betty…”</p><p>Her lips twitch in this tiny, sad smile as her hand slides lower and the pad of her thumb gently rubs over his bottom lip. </p><p>“The way you were on the phone, I just knew something was wrong.” She lightly nibbles her own bottom lip, blinking fast as her eyes well up. “Like, really, really wrong. I could just feel it in my gut. I had to find you before something horrible happened…but it happened anyway.” </p><p>“I am so sorry,” he croaks, every fiber of his being wishing he could take it back, take it back, a hundred times over, take it back. “Betty, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t want to drag you into this mess, I never wanted you to get hurt, I didn’t—“ </p><p>“Shhh.” Betty silences him with the soft press of her index finger. “You don’t have to apologize. I don’t blame you, Jug.” </p><p>“I blame me. It was my fight, they wanted me,” he says, stomach writhing with the familiar sense of guilt.</p><p>“Hey, your fights are my fights,” Betty insists. “We’re a team, Jughead. We figure things out together— we’re supposed to figure things out together.” </p><p>He swallows as he gets a sense of where this is going, guilt surging forth in another forceful tide. </p><p>“I’m not mad about what you did,” she goes on, slight quiver in her voice. “I swear I’m not, I don’t blame you for it. I know you were trying to help the Serpents, I know you did what you felt like you had to. I get what it’s like to be that desperate, Jug, I do. But the next time you feel that way, we have to find another solution together. You can’t…” </p><p>Her voice breaks, eyes furiously blinking back mist as she pauses to compose it. </p><p>“I can’t go through another phone call like that, okay?” she pleads. “Don’t put me through another phone call like that.” </p><p>“I won’t,” he promises with all the ferocity he can muster. “I swear, I won’t. Never again.” </p><p>Jughead brushes his lips over Betty’s forehead and she breathes a sigh of relief. He goes to tuck some stray hair back behind her ear and this is when he realizes her hair is much shorter than it was the last time they were in the same room. The longest tresses only just tickle her chin. </p><p>Betty notices his surprise and reaches up, twirling a thin lock around her finger. </p><p>“Yeah, um, Veronica cut it for me.” </p><p>The words seem innocuous enough, but Betty suddenly won’t look at him, gaze shifting to a spot on the wall. Maybe she wasn’t happy with how it turned out?</p><p>“It looks nice,” he compliments earnestly. “Short hair is cute on you.” </p><p>Betty blinks very slowly before she looks back to him. Her lips twitch in a weak smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. </p><p>“Is something wrong?” he asks, concern rising to the surface. </p><p>Betty is quiet for a few heartbeats, the pillow crunching as she shifts her elbow a bit. It really is awkward, being sandwiched together on this small, not particularly comfortable bed that definitely wasn’t made to accommodate two people. Jughead wishes he could give her more room, but he’s already wiggled his way back as much as possible. </p><p>“Veronica did your hair too,” she hums. “I can smell the vanilla.” </p><p>“Yeah, I gave her a little bit of crap for it actually,” he scoffs lightly. “Not really thrilled about being taunted with the sugary aroma of stuff I can’t eat right now.” </p><p>Betty bobs her head, expression so warm that if he didn’t know her any better, he wouldn’t catch the shadow in her eyes. But Jughead does know her better and sees it, and his concern deepens. </p><p>“C’mon, Betts,” he says gently. “What’s up?” </p><p>Her features tighten. She inhales through her nose. </p><p>“I need to talk to you about something,” she says, raising her chin. “It’s not easy for me to talk about, but apparently people are already gossiping and I’d rather you hear from me than somebody else.” </p><p>“About your dad being the Black Hood?” he guesses, frowning deeply. “I already heard. God, Betty, you must be devastated.”</p><p>“I’m still trying to wrap my mind around everything he did…” Her face takes on a faraway look. Something flashes in her eyes as she swallows and returns her focus to Jughead. </p><p>“I wanted to talk about that too. But it’s not what I was thinking of. There’s something different I have to tell you.” </p><p>Betty’s skin is cooler than he expects it to be when her fingers slip between his. She loosely knits their digits together, the closest they can get to holding hands because of the plastic pieces and injection ports of the IVs. Her lips separate and Jughead glimpses the tip of her tongue pressing against the bottom ridge of her teeth in hesitation. </p><p>Jughead doesn’t rush her, waits as foreboding travels his spine in spider leg scurries. The way Betty described knowing something was very, very wrong when he called her to say goodbye is the way he’s feeling now. This deep, unshakable sense of wrongness.</p><p>“I wasn’t just beaten up on Riot Night,” she says slowly, curling her fingers tighter into his. “I also got raped.” </p><p>Jughead goes rigid, everything else sent scattering as the words echo in his mind, as the meaning attached to them seeps in. It knocks the breath from his lungs. The next one he tries to rake in can’t make it past the dread that arrests his insides in an icy deluge. </p><p>“I wanted you to hear it from me, Jug,” Betty repeats, searching his face, sounding like there’s a bubble in her throat. </p><p>
  <em>"The only scary thing is what we're going to do to your girlfriend when we find her."</em>
</p><p>No. </p><p>God, no. </p><p>No, no, no. </p><p>“Malachi,” he grates out, venom surging white hot in his veins even though his insides are still drowned in ice and he’s shaking suddenly, suddenly he is many things, too many things. </p><p>The muscles in Betty’s face quiver. Her mouth pulls taut. She blinks once, she blinks twice and then Jughead sees <em>it.</em> The only scary thing. The scariest thing there is silently screaming in the depths of Betty’s broken eyes. </p><p>“All of them, Jughead. They took turns.” </p><p>
  <em>Nononononononononononono.</em>
</p><p>A thick, hot sob lurches up his throat and Jughead swallows it back. When he woke up enough, clear enough to make sense of things, and realized he had lived through his almost-sacrifice, and knew he would see Betty again, he thought he had to prepare himself for her tears. He thought he’d see her tears because she hated him in pain, and when they flowed he would reflexively kiss them away drop by salty drop.</p><p>He never imagined that this— that anything the fuck like this —would’ve happened to her and that he’d be the one crying. And he can’t be, he absolutely cannot be crying right now. Betty just told him she was raped, raped, gang-raped, Jesus Christ! He refuses to cry right now and put that on her, to put her in a position where she feels like she has to comfort him! Jughead needs to be the one comforting her! </p><p>He can’t let himself cry, he can’t let himself cry, he swallows again to keep the sob from coming up and chokes out, </p><p>“I’ll kill them, I’ll kill every one.” </p><p>Betty laughs and it’s not her strawberry sweet happy laugh, or her sharp-as-a-whip sarcastic scoff, it is a strange, almost delirious sound. </p><p>“There’s been so much of that lately,” she says, and he’s never seen a broken heart in a smile before the one her cut/bruised lips unfurl in now. “Killing.” </p><p>For the life of him, Jughead just doesn’t know what to say. Betty slips her fingers free of his and touches his shoulder instead, traces that bandages that hide the hideously stitched topographic terrain of mutilation beneath Penny’s blade. Gently roams the gauze. Betty doesn’t breathe a word, stares at his shoulder until she draws her hand back and presses her fingertips to her mouth. </p><p>Sometimes he and Betty are so in sync, Jughead swears they can read each other’s minds. And even when they can’t quite do that, they take pretty damn good guesses. But something is happening here and Jughead has no idea what. No clue where Betty is in this moment where she rubs her lips together, fingertips still overtop of them. </p><p>“I thought you died,” she tells him for the second time today, finally meeting his gaze again. </p><p>“I didn’t,” Jughead manages to promise her this time. </p><p>“You didn’t.” Her fingers leave her face and she brings her hand to his head, softly stroking through his hair. “I’m not going to tell you I’m okay, Jug. You wouldn’t believe me if I did, so I’ll admit it, I’m not okay.” </p><p>“God, Betty, I can never apologize enough,” he breathes out raggedly, encompassed by a new, even stronger storm of guilt. </p><p>Betty just shakes her head, smiles this tiny, warm smile. </p><p>“You didn’t die. You’re still here. Even though I’m not okay, you’re with me, so I know I’ll get there,” she says, pure love eclipsing that unknowable, scary thing he’d seen in her eyes. “I need you to know it too. I don’t want you to beat yourself up about this, Jughead…you’ve been beaten up enough.” </p><p>He can’t quite say, ‘okay,’ and let go of the guilt just like that. No matter how Betty feels, it’s still his fault she’s here and Jughead is painfully, brutally aware of that. But he also wants to be what Betty needs him to be right now, and she needs him not to be hung up on things he can’t change. Needs him to be here and present for her, and not stuck in the guilt like quicksand. </p><p>So he gulps it down for the time being and gently kisses Betty’s forehead again, finding comfort in the fond sigh that slips from her lips as she nestles into him. They’re together again and they can finally have a moment of peace. </p><p>“Oh no, this stops now.” </p><p>Or not. </p><p>Barb struts to the foot of the bed, frowning in disapproval. </p><p>“This,” she says briskly, pointing. “Is not safe or sanitary for either of you. No one wants infections or tangled IVs. Time to go back to your room, Miss Cooper.” </p><p>“Can we just stay like this a little longer?” Betty pleads, batting her eyes. </p><p>Barb hesitates. Betty is naturally hard to resist. </p><p>“Please?” she begs, floccus soft. </p><p>“We could’ve lost each other,” Jughead adds, aiming just to lay it on thick ‘cause Barb’s a sap and not quite realizing how much saying it aloud makes it real. His stomach flips and Betty’s fingers twist between his once more. </p><p>“Alright,” Barb caves. “I’ll give you a half hour. But that’s it.” </p><p>“Thank you,” Betty chirps. </p><p>They’re left to themselves again and sure, it’s cramped and apparently dangerous and germ-y, but as long as they’re together, it’s the best place to be. Though Jughead does wince when the pillow gives another plastic-y crunch as Betty squiggles beside him. </p><p>“V brought me a memory foam one,” she murmurs idly. “I’ll have her bring you one too, okay?” </p><p>“Eh, I don’t really need fancy pillows.” </p><p>“You’ve earned yourself a fancy pillow, Jug. You kicked the Grim Reaper’s ass.” </p><p>In spite of everything, he cracks a smile. </p><p>“Didn’t do it for a pillow, Betty, I did it for you.” </p><p>Her weary laugh tickles against the skin of his neck and that in itself, is nothing short of healing. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a sensible conclusion, but am I a sensible person? Debatable.</p><p>Also, did I just finish this fic and a Dare Me fic in the same day?? </p><p>Will probably come back to edit typos, think my brain's kinda too buzzy to catch 'em rn.</p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">Edit: Fixed some typos, still probably more. Did not do two fics in one day, just lost a day, pfft.</span></p></blockquote></div></div>
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